


Trying Hard to be Good

by Susanwiththescythe



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood sexual experimentation, Enforced penance, Gen, Grooming, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Pre-Slash, Religious Fanaticism, chocolate frogs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susanwiththescythe/pseuds/Susanwiththescythe
Summary: The sad story of how Credence Barebone came to know a certain Percival Graves, and how there was lot more to both of them than at first appeared.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For my purposes, Credence is 16 at time of the first Fantastic Beasts film. I will update the tags and rating as necessary, if and when I write more. I'm vaguely planning on doing the whole film, time and inspiration allowing. Largely unbeta'd apart from a read-through by a friend who is not on here. Any remaining errors are mine. Comments and concrit welcomed.

**1918**

Credence cannot remember how old he was when he worked out he was different from the other children. But he does remember the first time his mother beats him because being different means being bad. He is eight. And he has just knocked the earthenware bowl the family uses for Sunday stew from the shelf above the range. Desperate, he turns to try to catch it, only to see it hovering, miraculously unbroken, a few inches from the floor. He lets out the panicked breath he’d taken in as the piece of crockery fell, a bubble of relieved laughter escaping his lips. His mother does not like it when he breaks things, she calls him a clumsy fool and says the Lord is testing her to have sent her a child such as Credence.

Reaching down, he takes a firm grip on the heavy pot and sets it back in its usual place, with a pleased nod of satisfaction. She will have no cause to be angry with him today.

“What did you do child?” He turns to see her standing in the kitchen doorway.

“I stopped it from breaking Mom! Did you see? I…” He starts off proudly, but as he takes in the look on her face, his relief at not having broken anything is fast turning to dread.

“It was the Devil in you, child. We have to get it out.” Her voice is soft, re-assuring. He will soon learn to fear that tone.

Afterwards, he is not sure what he was punished for most, the way the pot somehow remained whole, or how pleased he had been at saving it. But otherwise, he is left in no doubt. He is sinful and what he did was bad. He doesn’t want to be bad.

 

**1923**

The other time he remembers most clearly comes a few years later, when he is almost 13. He befriends one of the boys among the children his mother takes in to help with her mission. His name is Jacob. He has green eyes and a head of shaggy blond hair that feels so soft when Credence runs his fingers through it. When his mother misses him and finds the two of them in the alleyway behind the mission building, nose to nose, lips parted and almost touching, it’s Jacob’s hair she grabs to pull the two of them apart, yanking him away from Credence and hurling him to the ground. Credence can only watch, numb with terror, as Jacob runs away sobbing and his mother advances.

“Why do you make me do this to you, child? Why do you let the Devil in? I’m raising you to be a good boy. It breaks my heart when you’re bad.” The certainty that she means every word falls on him like some suffocating blanket.

He remembers this beating because it is one of the longest she’s ever administered. And it’s been a long time since he’s done anything to deserve the chastisement. He’s forgotten how much it hurts to be bad. He doesn’t want to be bad. He tries so hard.

 

**1926**

He first sees him at one of his mother’s public meetings. The tall man in the dark, expensive suit who is everything he isn’t - handsome, at ease in himself and not afraid of anything. Credence is afraid of many things, starting with himself and working his way up from there. He tries not to stare at the stranger, as his mother extols the virtue of their fight against the evils of witchcraft, but again and again he finds himself drawn to dark eyes that he is sure are reading his innermost secrets off the back of his skull.

The strange man stays behind at the end. His mother is talking to two older women, some of their regulars, so it’s Credence he approaches. Realising the stranger is walking towards him, Credence finds himself gulping in a sudden breath, catching the rich scent of the man’s cologne; he reeks of power, of money. It’s enough to set Credence’s heart quivering in his chest, but he manages to keep his place and only drops his eyes slightly. His mother is keen to convince the city’s movers and shakers that magic is something real and dangerous, something to be feared. For all Credence knows, this man may not be anyone important, but he looks the part and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to make a good impression.

“What’s your name?” It’s the most of innocuous of introductions but the man’s voice is low, commanding, and Credence already feels overwhelmed, lost.

“Credence Barebone, sir.” He knows automatically that this man is a “sir”.

“Tell me Credence, how often does your mother hold these meetings?”

“Most days sir, whenever she can.”

“And are people receptive to her message?”

“Well… you can see for yourself sir, how many come to listen, but numbers are growing, that I’m sure of.”

“I see.”

There is silence.

Credence knows he has failed to help promote the mission. He can see his mother over the stranger’s shoulder, she is still engaged in conversation, but there’s a tightness around her eyes he has come to dread. She will be so angry when they are home and he has to tell her what happened.

The stranger holds out his right hand. “My name is Percival Graves. You may call me Mr Graves.”

Credence takes the man’s hand gingerly, uncertain what to do next, but the way Mr Graves crushes his fingers in his grip tells Credence he is definitely not the one steering this conversation.

“I represent a group of people who are very interested in what you and your mother can do for us Credence.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Mr Graves.”

“Thank you Mr Gravessir.”

Mr Graves pulls Credence towards him, his right hand sliding along Credence’s arm to the elbow while his left hand encircles the young man’s back. Credence feels something drop into his coat pocket as the man moves around him.

“I think you could provide a valuable service to my organisation Credence, I hope you don’t prove me wrong. Have this for when you get home. Open it alone. I’ll be in touch.”

The object in his coat pocket feels suddenly heavier as he wonders what it might be. The instruction to open it alone feels impossible to ignore, but he doesn’t understand the need for secrecy. Before he can ask, Mr Graves has released him and is walking away.

“Who was that?” His mother’s voice is sharp, but not yet angry.

"He said his name was Mr Graves. He was interested in the meeting. I- I- I think he is going to come to more meetings.” He thinks about saying more, but the weight of the thing in his coat pocket suddenly feels like it is pressing down on his tongue.

His mother looks at Mr Graves’ departing back and smiles a brittle smile. “Well that is good news. Come along Credence, we have work to do to feed the children. They’ll be waiting.”

 

Later that night, in the privacy of his attic room, sweating with nervous curiosity, he pulls out the item Mr Graves dropped into his coat pocket. It’s an ornate, five-sided cardboard box with a pointed lid, decorated in purple and gold, with the words “Chocolate Frog” printed on the top. As soon as he pulls it out, the box is immediately the brightest, most colourful thing in the room. A delicious smell seems to be coming from it, the _chocolate_ , he realises. Mother would never let any of them have anything as luxurious as this. Sugar is forbidden, a frivolity. A whole bar of chocolate, if that’s what this is, almost feels like a bar of gold. The shape is unlike any he’s ever glimpsed through any storefront. He fleetingly thinks of sharing it with his sisters. But it’s too dangerous, his conscience insists. If any of the others knew, it would only make it more likely they would all be found out. Keeping it to himself is safer. And he cannot ignore the little voice that points out that this leaves _more_ for him…

He opens the box carefully, and then drops it in surprise, as the croak of a _frog_ escapes into the silence of his bedroom. As he peers down to look, a webbed chocolate foot emerges over the lid, followed by another and then what he realises is the snout of the creature. The intoxicating smell he noticed before suddenly intensifies.

Magic.

This is magic.

A frog made out of chocolate. That _moves_. It sounds so ridiculous, it has to be magic. Not the magic his mother talks about, a fearsome dark force that needs to be rooted out by a second series of the Salem trials.

This is something entirely different.

He has no time to think anything else, before the frog has leapt from the box on the floor and onto his bed. Credence immediately dives for it but the frog is too quick, springing with a croak to land on the lamp on his nightstand. Credence almost knocks it over in his haste to get there in time but the creature stays one jump ahead of him, landing on his pillow. The fourth jump however – on to his bedspread - is noticeably shorter and slower, and Credence prepares himself, feeling an unfamiliar thrill of triumph as he catches it midleap in both hands. This is magic. And it is _fun_.

As soon as he touches it, the frog stills, the magic ended. But Credence doesn’t really think about that until later, as he lies in bed, trying and failing to close his eyes. In the moment of success, he is engulfed by the heady smell of the chocolate and the sudden thrill of satisfaction as he bites off the frog’s head. The taste of it on his tongue is better than anything he has ever imagined. He bites down again, greedy for more, savouring the melting, sticky sweetness. The frog is devoured in a matter of bites, leaving his fingers and face a smeary mess. He licks his hands clean slowly, staring at his reflection in the small shard of mirror he uses for shaving.

Magic is real. And it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. His mother is wrong. And if she is wrong about that, what else might she be wrong about? A shudder shoots through his body. He is not used to thinking this way about his mother. The strangeness of it excites him, sets every nerve trembling.

He bends down reverentially to pick up the box. Looking inside, he almost drops it again. He is half-certain, half-convinced he is dreaming, that he saw a man’s face in there, and it winked at him. Fingers trembling, he reaches inside and pulls out a card with a picture on it. It shows an elderly man with a long white beard, who smiles at him. The card has a border that makes it looked like an old-fashioned oil painting, with a name plaque that reads “Merlin”. Turning the card over, he discovers a few lines of text on the back. _“Merlin, the most famous wizard of all time. Widely-known for his work alongside the English king, Arthur, he championed a co-operation between Wizardkind and the rest of humanity, the like of which has never been replicated. Although he not been seen for centuries, no account of his death has ever been verified, leading some to speculate that he may have discovered true immortality.”_

Looking at Merlin’s picture again, Credence feels a surge of hope. What his mother wants is not inevitable. _Co-operation_. That doesn’t sound like war. In the picture, Merlin raises a hand to Credence and waves and then turns to his right and _walks out of the frame_.

When Credence finally does manage to sleep, the card is clutched tightly in his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slightly later with this than I'd hoped, I was away visiting friends who had problems with their internet, and then I was being visited by family and then I was ill. So writing time has been somewhat limited, sorry for the delay. Again, this has had a short beta, all remaining mistakes are my own. As ever, comments and concrit welcomed.

He notices her just a couple of days after that first meeting with Mr Graves. Like him, she stands out from the usual crowd, the features of her face a little more sharply defined, the colour in her clothes that little bit brighter to Credence's eyes. Her wool coat is slightly worn, but well-tailored. She can afford the quality, but has to work for it first, he guesses. She has short dark hair held in place by a cloche hat. Her hair matches her brown eyes, but the hat holding her bob close to her face gives her a rather severe look. As he takes in the rest of her clothes, he realises with a start that she is wearing a shirt and pants. His mother would not approve.

And again, he can't help but stare at her. As if she and Graves, _people like them_ , represent his new personal magnetic north. He doesn't know for certain that they are connected, he simply _feels_ that they must be. The way they don't quite fit in the world, but look as though they know more about it than most. The now familiar sense of the _un_ familiar makes his eyeballs itch.

She notices him looking, smiles, her severity only skin deep, and it's the most natural thing in the world to smile back. But then he stops suddenly, quietly panicking that his mother will see. Smiling at girls doesn't get him into quite as much trouble as smiling at boys, but it is still frowned upon.

Her eyes cloud over slightly in response and he can't help but flinch as he sees a small frown cross her face. Such tiny changes in someone's mood never bode well in his experience. But then something unusual happens.

The smile returns and it is genuine, he can tell.

Her lips are moving, no sound coming out. _"It's ok."_ Credence darts his eyes deliberately over to his left and a little way ahead of him, to where his mother is declaiming.

The woman in the crowd nods her understanding slowly, masking it with a gradual tilt of her head as if she is simply scanning the people around her, or working out a crick in her neck. Just a little, Credence allows himself to relax. They haven't been observed.

As usual, his mother remains on the sidewalk for a while, canvassing those who stay behind. And for the second time in as many meetings, he finds himself being approached by a total stranger. Much, much later, when he's trying to make out her voice amidst the black chaos swirling all around him, he will wonder if things would have fallen out differently if he had met her first. All she ever did was try to be kind to him, no matter what Mr Graves had said about her.

"Hey there." She's standing just in front of him now, smile completely unforced.

"H-hello." It's easier this time, now that he's even a little bit more used to the idea of people actually noticing him.

"She preaches a powerful sermon doesn't she? Is she your Mom?"

He nods.

"Not much of a talker are you?" The question is a blunt one, but if she's cross with him she hides it well.

"Don't h-have much to say ma'am."

"Aw, you don't have to call me that. My name's Tina. What's yours?"

Not cross then, just direct. He can handle this.

"Credence."

"Pleased to meet you Credence."

She holds out her hand and he shakes it shyly.

Looking her over again, Credence briefly considers the _differences_ between her and Mr Graves, and it's more than just the insistence on a title, or lack of one. Mr Graves would only ever be content to be someone's master, whereas Tina would rather be their teacher, or better still, their friend. He thinks all of this in less than a heartbeat, without really understanding the implications, but he knows he can learn something from both of them. They are different from other people, perhaps in the way he is too. And he wants to know more.

"You hungry?" The question jerks him out of his thoughts. He's never not hungry, but he's grown used to it. The mush they feed the street kids is nourishing to be sure, but by the time the grubby little evangelists for Mother Barebone have been fed, there isn't usually much left for her assorted family. But they make do.

Tina's pulling something wrapped in baking paper out of her shoulder bag, apparently taking his silence as a "yes". He risks a glance at his mother. She is now talking to a man wearing a top hat and holding a briefcase.

"My sister Queenie makes a mean apple strudel, and she always packs me some for lunch. I can never finish it. You wanna share?"

"I..." It's so strange. These two strange people offering him wonderful, wonderful food in such a short space of time. Sweet things. Chocolate. Cake. What does it mean? Is it a test? He didn't feel these doubts with Mr Graves, but that was the first one of such meetings and Credence had been so surprised to begin with, there hadn't been room for doubt.

Fortunately, Tina is moving ahead with her snack-sharing plan without waiting for him to catch up, breaking the strudel in half and tearing the baking parchment into two makeshift plates, balancing one in each hand.

"Here, I'll eat some first, so you know it's not poison!" He can hear the laugh in her voice, as she lifts the flaky pastry confection to her mouth and takes a big bite, _Mmmming_ in appreciation.

"Oh Merlin that's good!" There are crumbs flying everywhere as Tina talks unashamedly through a mouthful of pastry. "Queenie you genius! I call her Queenie Genie sometimes you know. Winds her up something terrible." She winks at him, mouth still full.

Her obvious enjoyment is too much for him, and that exclamation of Merlin's name is a lightly-felt reassurance. A badge of identification for _them_. Mr Graves. Tina. Him. He couldn't have asked for a clearer signal. Tentatively, he reaches forward...

"Go on! Take it! I won't tell." Her voice is warm, encouraging.

He grabs the strudel in both hands and in less than a minute it's gone. He checks furtively behind Tina and sees his mother advancing.

"Oh no..." The words are out before he can stop them.

"Here! Gimme the paper!" Tina snatches it out of his hand and secretes it somewhere out of sight. Turning back to him, she raises both eyebrows as if to say _"Well we got away with that one!"_ but Credence knows it isn't over yet.

"Credence!"

"Yes Mom."

"What have I told you about bothering people? I am so sorry, miss."

He knows it isn't his fault. He also knows she'd never believe him.

"Oh he's no bother at all ma'am. In fact, I'm the one bothering him!"  
Tina uses her cheerfulness as a shield, Credence realises. It would be almost impossible to take against someone so open and sincere. Yet his mother still manages it. Her voice is immediately unfriendly and suspicious, as she asks,

"And you are?"

"Tina Goldstein. Mrs..?"

"Barebone."

"You have a wonderfully polite son there Mrs Barebone, if you don't mind me saying so."

The lie falls from Tina's lips with ease and Credence flushes at the falsehood. He keeps his head low to avoid his mother's gaze.

"Thank you. He can be a real handful at times, but the Lord sends me infinite patience."

"If you say so. I can't see how you'd need it myself." The smile Tina is turning on his mother could melt icebergs, but Credence isn't sure it'll work on her.

"What's your interest in the campaign for a Second Salem, Miss Goldstein, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I heard about it from a friend. And I have to say, I was sceptical, you know? I mean, magic? Really? In this day and age? I find it so hard to imagine!" Her tone is still light, polite without patronising, and gently inquisitve all at once, and Credence, keeping his expression carefully blank, tries his hardest not to give her away. True, he hasn't _seen_ any magic from her, but she knows about Merlin and, God help him, he wishes he could lie like she could. It would make life just that bit less painful sometimes.

"Doubt us, as you may," he hears his mother reply, sounding pleased for the first time in the conversation, for there's nothing she likes better than to convert a sceptic, "But even now, even with the signs of progress all around us, you can be sure the Devil walks among us. Magic is one of his weapons. He uses it to corrupt innocent souls. Once they get a taste of the power, there's only one thing that can save them."

"And what's that?" Tina's voice is steady, all cheer gone. It's not quite a threat, yet.

"Purification."

"Mrs Barebone?" She's going for joky disbelief, and Credence hopes he's the only who can tell she's masking a deep well of anger, and just a touch of fear behind it, "You can't mean burning people? That's... Well, surely it's barbaric isn't it?"

Risking a sideways glance at his mother, Credence sees the same well-worn certainty in her face that's on display whenever she has reason to punish him.

"If that's what it takes, Miss Goldstein. We have to make use of the best methods available to us. And once they are purified, the Lord will truly welcome them home."

"Gosh." For once, Tina seems at a loss for words. Credence doesn't blame her. His mother evidently takes the shock in her voice for a sense of awe.

"The Lord's will is not always easy to carry out, Miss Goldstein." It's almost gentle, as though she were addressing a small child. Credence knows all too well what can follow such words. "Sacrifices have to be made, but the righteous shall be saved. Now if you'll excuse me, we should be going, we have the Lord's work to do."

"Don't let me stop you. You've given me a lot to think about." Tina turns to Credence. "It was good to meet you."

"Say thank you to Miss Goldstein."

"Thank you miss."

Their eyes meet briefly, both acknowledging that this enforced formality is just because his mother is there.

"My pleasure." She looks back to his mother. "Are you in the same place every week? You've certainly made me mighty curious."

His mother nods curtly. "We're here every Wednesday."

"Thank you."

"Not at all. Good day, Miss Goldstein."

And then they are leaving, Tina quickly swallowed up in the push and pull of New Yorkers out on the street. Chancing a glance behind him, Credence sees the turn and flare of her pastel coat, as she leaves in the opposite direction.

His mother doesn't say another word to him until they are back at the mission. But the second they are over the threshold she says, "There are crumbs on your jacket child."

He knows it was expecting too much to think they might have got away with it.

"Yes."

"What did she give you?" He doesn't bother asking how she knows. Like a good servant of God, his mother is ever watchful.

"Strudel. She shared her lunch with me."

"Why did you accept?"

"I didn't want to be rude." Not a lie. _I was hungry._ Definitely not a lie. _She was being kind._ You never are.  
He knows his mother loves him. She tells him she does often enough, but her kindness is measured out in beatings and calls to confession, not in cake and conversation. He is starting to feel very confused.

"You know how I feel about that sort of thing Credence. How the Lord feels about it."

It's not a question, so he doesn't answer.

"Wait for me by the table."

A few moments later, he's bent over, hands gripping the back of one of the kitchen chairs feeling the stinging impact of the belt through the seat of his pants.

And he thinks every bite was worth the pain. Every single one.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ermahgerd, sorry everyone who has been waiting FOREVER for me to update this. I have not abandoned it, but last year went downhill rapidly after November and I was ill a lot. And this year, I have been job hunting, while possibly about to move countries, which has taken up a lot of my time, and then I got distracted by some SPN fic that I had to exorcise from my brain before it would let me write anything else. Thank you so much for your patience! :) As ever, concrit and comments, very much welcomed. Mostly un-beta'd, so do please shout if you spot anything.

He knows it's a sin to have a favourite sister. But that didn't stop him at the time and it doesn't bother him now. Chastity does not often have time for him. And she is so much more well-behaved than him. Often when he transgresses, Credence will receive a lecture from his mother that almost always ends with the admonition that he really should be more like his sister. But there is something different about _her_ from the very first day she joins their little ragbag family, and Credence knows he has found a kindred spirit from the very first time their eyes meet.

 

**1918**

Modesty is a happy, gurgles-brimming-over kind of baby when she first comes to live with them. She moves in to the Barebone family home just before her first birthday. Credence is eight, his own birthday having fallen just a few days days before his new sister arrives, rescued, in his mother's words, from some godless family who have more children than they know what to do with, who have put up their latest hungry mouth for adoption. They solemnly mark his new sister's birthday a few days later, giving thanks to God that He has seen fit for Modesty to join them.

Credence is never sure what his baby sister first does to draw down his mother's displeasure upon her head. He only knows that on some days, the new addition to the family receives barely a spoonful of gruel in the mornings and the same at other meal times. Food is often in short supply, but the rest of the time, his mother usually feeds Modesty noticeably bigger portions from her own bowl. 

At first, Credence notes, his new sister will cry with hunger on those days when she receives only a spoonful for each meal. He does his best to comfort her, standing by her cot, stroking her little face, murmuring "shh, shh". She will usually quieten down for him, but never quite settle. 

His mother catches him the day he tries to feed her a piece of bread he'd saved from him his own lunch. It is hard and dry and although he's done his best to break it up for her with his hands, some catches in her throat. She's coughing and coughing, cheeks turning red with effort as she struggles to breathe, and Credence cries out in a panic, calling his mother to the bedroom.

Mother Barebone is cold and brisk in her anger, pushing him out of the way, lifting Modesty up by the ankles and slapping her on the back until the morsel is falling from her mouth.

His sister is screaming, crying in shock and pain, drawing in great gulps of air, but it is, Credence thinks, a vast improvement on the death rattle gasps and chokes she'd been making only a few moments before. Once she is sure the girl is breathing, his mother grabs the scruff of his jacket and drags Credence from the bedroom to the kitchen, where she bends him over her knee, so she can teach him not to interfere with the necessary discipline of little Modesty.

He doesn’t mind the pain. He’d almost stopped breathing himself watching his sister turn purple. But she’s alive and he will gladly pay for that in the slaps across his backside his mother administers. But Credence can't understand how a baby as sweet as his new sister could have done anything that requires discipline and, shaky with relief at Modesty’s survival and adrenaline from the beating, he plucks up the courage to ask why his sister must go out without food, when she is so small, so young, and has never done anything wrong. Not like him.

His mother answers that they are all born in sin, even babies as pure and innocent-seeming as Modesty. His mother is helping his sister fast as penance. He must not interfere again.

It’s just one more way in which he must learn to be good. The fasting days continue. His mother calls them "purification". Modesty soon learns not to cry, as nobody comes to comfort her.

The first fasting day that she makes no sound, Credence can feel his heart crack with his failure to take care of her.

 It is only when she becomes a little older that he finds a way to make up for it.

 

~~~

 

The punishment for trying to feed his sister leaves an impression. Over the coming days, he will try even harder than usual to follow his mother’s many rules, to give her no cause to lament his failings, to tell him that God is disappointed with him.

It is a few weeks later, as he is washing up the plates after their evening meal and reaching to replace them on the shelf above the range, that he knocks the family's earthenware casserole dish to the floor.

Except it doesn’t reach it.

Credence can see the descent in slow motion, but isn’t quick enough to do anything about it. He has to set down the plates he’s already holding, almost drops them too, then turn, and reach for the dish, fingers closing on empty air, almost falls off the small stepladder he’s precariously perched on, and as he stumbles down the wooden rungs, he realises he can’t save it from the inevitable smash.

He can taste the sour mix of fear and desperation at the back of his throat, feel it rise up his gullet and surge out of his mouth in a pained gasp. He does not want to be beaten like that again.

He can see every detail on the surface of the bowl, the irregularities in the plain brown glaze, where a few air bubbles make the surface uneven, where the rim has become chipped with use, encrusted traces of food from the last meal when they used it, and he, or maybe Chastity, was slightly less than meticulous in their attempts to wash up.

And as he stares, waiting for the inevitable noise and debris, he realises it is no longer falling. The bowl is hovering in the air. Barely two inches from the floor. As he realises that, he nearly trips over on top of it.

A small sound of joy escapes him as he reaches down gingerly and, when the bowl doesn’t appear to be continuing its descent, takes a firm hold and plucks it out of the air, to replace it reverentially on the shelf. 

It’s then he notices that his mother is watching him through the kitchen doorway.

The beating he received for feeding Modesty is nowhere near as severe as the one she administers now, trying to thrash the Devil out of him. Credence lays himself down to sleep on his stomach that night, the tender, bruised flesh of his buttocks and thighs mean that oblivion is a long time coming. He resolves again that he will try harder, be better and not displease his mother.

 

~~~

 

Despite the fasting days, Modesty continues to grow, albeit slowly. She is small, and thin, like they all are, but she’s definitely getting bigger. She doesn’t have many proper words when she first moves in with them, and in a household that reveres silence as golden, she doesn’t learn many news ones quickly. But as he spends more time looking after her, as his mother becomes increasingly involved in their church’s Second Salem campaign, Credence is unable to suppress a small flare of pride that she learns to say his name before his mother’s or Chastity’s. But still, she’s almost two, and hardly ever says a word unless spoken to. Except when she and Credence are alone.

They aren’t permitted many toys. His mother considers play a distraction from Bible study. But the family does possess a battered set of wooden alphabet blocks, his mother reasoning that the sooner a child learns to read, the sooner they can read the Bible. Credence is teaching Modesty their names when it happens. When he discovers how much more they have in common than he ever suspected.

“Look, this is me.” He points first to himself then to the blocks, sounding off the letters for her.

“C-R-E-D-E-N-C-E.”

“Cwee-duns.” She repeats after him, then laughs.

“Very good.” He smiles down at her. “Let’s do your name. Look.”

He reaches for more blocks and starts to spell her name out.

“M-O-D-E-S-T-Y.” He points from the blocks to her. “That’s your name. In writing.”

“Moduhsee,“ she tries.

“Almost.” He smiles. “Well done.” She gurgles happily back at him. It happens so quietly, he doesn’t notice at first. Small sounds, wood sliding over wood, half heard in one ear, while his head is turned to look down at her, both her hands clasped in his as he strokes the pads of his thumbs gently over her knuckles. When he looks back at the blocks, there is a new word spelled out. It’s not either of their names.

H. U. N. G. R. Y. He reads.

He feels his own surprised gasp more than he hears it. Turns to look at his little sister again.

“Me too.” The response is automatic, but his brain is whirring wildly, like a clockwork mouse skittering madly over a wooden floor. _She’s like me, she’s like meshe’sLIKEME._

He looks back at the blocks, reads again their accusation in peeling red, yellow and blue paint on chipped wood. Credence is certain he’s never heard his sister say that word, has never heard her complain to their mother. Not since she stopped crying. And the knowledge hits him suddenly, she _must not_ complain, she can't, definitely not like this, not if she wants to survive.

Wrapping his arms around her narrow body, he gathers her into his lap, presses her back to his chest, her little legs folded up against her stomach so he can hold her tightly and rock the two of them together where they sit on the floor.

“I know sis. I know. I’m hungry too. So often. But you can’t tell mama. Not like that. She’ll…” He pauses. He knows their mother loves them. Even when she’s beating him, she tells him it’s only because she loves him, because God loves him, and they both want to see him saved.

But still. It hurts. And he isn’t sure that Modesty’s size will save her. It might not be beating, it might not be fasting, but having seen his mother’s reaction to his own experience with the bowl, he knows he _can’t_ let her find out about Modesty.

He buries his nose in her shoulder. Kisses her softly on the side of her neck, fierce love making him grip her almost that bit too tight, she gives a little whimper in response.

“Don’t do this again sis. She’ll… she’ll hurt you. Okay?”

Those little wooden sounds come again, and when he looks back, the blocks are disordered once more.

Credence lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been keeping in. His hold on Modesty relaxes at the same time. 

“It’s for your own good.”

He winces as his mother’s words leave his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next installment. Beta'ing was not intensive, so give me a shout if you spot owt, otherwise, enjoy!

**1926**

It’s a rare occasion that Credence does something right, but when he does, the smile that spreads across his mother’s face lifts his spirits for several days afterwards.

 Over the years, he’s realised there’s one thing he can sometimes do as well as Chastity, and that’s remember his Bible. His mother is testing them against each other, getting them to answer questions in turn. She’s asking them about Genesis. It’s been a while since she’s tested them on this particular book of scripture and his sister cannot name the four branches of the river that flows out of Eden.

“The third is Tigris, uh, and Euphrates is the fourth one,” Chastity pauses, looking at their mother hesitantly.

“That’s two child, what are the others?”

Chastity’s face is a mask of pained concentration.

“The second, the second is…” Credence can hear the uncertainty in her voice, “…Gihon?”

“Very good. And the first?”

“I… I don’t remember Mama. I’m sorry.”

Their mother is silent. Credence knows from his own experience that looking up and seeing her disappointment can sometimes be worse than any punishment. He waits for his question. They’ve been doing this for nearly an hour, which means it will soon be over. He’s not expecting what comes next.

“Credence, can you tell me the name of the first branch of the river of Eden?”

She doesn’t usually do this, doesn’t usually get one of them to pick up where the other one has failed. But he knows the answer, he _does_. He’d reeled the list off in his head as soon as she’d asked for it, cursing his own bad luck that he seems so often to know the answers to Chastity’s questions but not his own.

“Pishon Mama.”

He’s not eager, doesn’t show off, and barely raises his eyes to hers as he answers. The fond smile she directs at him is a blessing he hadn’t expected to receive so soon. Not after the incident with Tina and the apple strudel.

He smiles back at her, then quickly drops his eyes.

“Good boy.”

The praise fills him with hope. He always tries so hard.

 

~~~

 

It’s a cold spring morning a few day later that he next sees Miss Goldstein and at first glance, he doesn’t recognise her. The clothes are different, her hair is a different colour. Credence only notices her because of the expression on her face. It’s there for just a moment, but she’s staring at Mother Barebone, disgust distorting her features. It’s their first public meeting of the week.

At first, he’s upset that a stranger would look at his mother that way, so he fixes her with his own look of disgust, taking in the blonde bob and the green overcoat. He stares and stares, wondering what she wants, why she’s still here if she has so much contempt for what his mother is saying. But the longer he looks, the more he starts to notice there’s something not quite right about the young woman. Something almost… magical.

His can’t seem to make his eyes concentrate on her properly. A force is pushing against his eyeballs, so his focus slips and slides away from her. The best he can manage is to direct a baleful glare at the hem of her coat, the tips of her fingers, the crown of her hat. Then, when she moves, shifting from foot to foot, her coat swaying gently in response, he spots it. The rainbow shimmer in the air along the edge of the material as it moves.

Once she’s still again, the burst of colours almost vanishes, but, screwing up his eyes, Credence discovers he can still see them, just about. Frowning, he stares intently at the same spot at the bottom of her jacket, pushing at it with his eyes. If he tries really hard, he can almost believe there is a patch of fabric that’s a different colour, maybe pale lavender. He focuses all his attention on that patch and, as he stares, it starts to spread, leaching away the green, flowing upwards.

Credence feels a flicker of something in his chest. Heat darting outwards toward the unknown woman, as he concentrates on her with all the energy he can muster. There’s a flash behind his eyes, a sudden feeling of inversion, as if he’s hanging upside down in the air. Then he’s jumping at a sound overhead, as the streetlamp above him shatters, glass shards falling onto the sidewalk all around him.

There are shouts and exclamations from people standing close by.

“What the hell…?”

“…it wasn’t even on!”

“How does that happen in the middle of the goddamn day?”

He runs this fingers carefully through his hair, feels small fragments of glass fall from the strands, hears them patter down to the ground.

Looking up, he takes in the broken streetlamp. The light casing has been completely destroyed and the metal frame is smoking. Looking back down to the people around him, he sees that the woman with the blonde hair and the green coat has vanished. In her place, is Tina Goldstein, who starts walking towards him as soon as he spots her. A mere ten strides and she’s in front of him.

“Young man, are you alright?”

“I… think so Miss Goldstein.”

It’s impossible to miss the way she starts at that.

“You can _see_ _me_?”

Credence is confused, and not just by the fact that until 10 seconds ago, she looked like someone completely different. She knows his name, why is she being so formal?

What comes out is, “Why wouldn’t I be able to see you?”

Tina glances down at herself, in her lavender coat and dark slacks, then looks up at the iron frame of the streetlamp, muttering a curse under her breath.

She looks back at him in confusion, then winks at him conspiratorially, “Well, I _was_ in disguise, obviously not a very good one…”

She seems nervous, despite her outward cheerfulness.

“Credence!” His mother is calling him, and for once she doesn’t sound angry. She sounds scared. He can hear footsteps approaching, slowed down by the press of people now gathered round the busted streetlamp.

Tina glances in the direction of that voice, her shoulders tense, then looks back down at Credence, speaking quickly.

“Listen Credence, I don’t think your mama likes me very much after last time, but I didn’t want to get you in trouble or anything. I just needed to check you were ok. So, are you?”

Credence remembers their first meeting. What happened afterwards. He doesn’t answer. It’s enough.

Tina frowns. “I’ll come back and see you again soon ok?”

He nods slowly. Despite everything that happened last time, he would like to see her again. The glimpses he gets from her and Mr Graves of a world beyond this one, where people can do magical things, are too tantalising for him to want otherwise.

“Credence!” It’s his mother again, her voice tinged with panic now.

“I’m here Mama!”

When he looks around, Tina is already vanishing into the crowd and seconds later, he is pressed against his mother’s chest, her rapidly beating heart thudding in his ears.

He feels strangely calm. He doesn’t know what happened, but he isn’t scared.

“Praise God you’re safe child. I… I just don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”

“I’m ok Mama. I promise.”

“My sweet boy. Praise God.”

He has never heard her like this before. He likes it. For the second time in his recent memories, he feels loved.

 

~~~

 

“Would you like to know more about the Lord’s campaign for a second Salem? Sir? Ma’am?”

It’s a few days later that he spots Tina again, as he walks through the crowd handing out leaflets at another of their public meetings. She’s in disguise once more, but this time, there’s no hint of magic. He can tell it’s her because she’s wearing a green coat, with a hat to match and a blonde wig. The only other addition is a pair of dark-rimmed glasses. If he hadn’t already been primed what to look for, he’s pretty certain he wouldn’t have recognised her.

He walks up to her, sheaf of campaign literature in one hand. She’s not at the meeting with anyone, but there are other people standing close by and he knows it will be difficult to have an open conversation. There are so many things he wants to ask her

“Please Miss, can I interest you in our campaign?”

She turns to him, a sly smile already in place, and accepts a leaflet.

“Have we met young man?” Her raised eyebrow is supposed to be imperious, but the barely-there upwards curve at the corner of her mouth undercuts that.

“I’ve seen you at meetings before, Miss. My name’s Credence.”

“Of course it is! Your mother has mentioned you in her speeches. How you sweet children are her inspiration to fight for a good and pure world, free of the evils of sorcery. I’m sure I’ve said it before, but she preaches a powerful sermon.”

“Yes Miss.”

“And is she so forceful the whole time? At home too?”

Their eyes meet.

“Yes Miss.”

“But only when you deserve it, I’m sure.” Her approval is an exaggeration. He’s seen her act before and knows how good it is.

“It is very easy to deserve it Miss.”

“Oh?”

“We mustn’t be greedy Miss. Nor desire luxury. Mama says God provides and what he provides should be enough. We must be grateful.”

“I see. A compelling argument,” she says. _A load of hogwash_ , he hears.

“I am grateful Miss.”

She doesn’t respond, just looks at him, thoughtful.

“Grateful that I met you,” he whispers quickly, quietly.

“I’m sure. You seem like an upright young man.” Her smile is back, and she’s reaching into her handbag. “I have something for you.”

She pulls out a leather-bound bible and hands it to him. It looks heavy, but feels lighter than he would have expected when she drops it into his hand.

“I know a fine, God-fearing young man like yourself surely likes to study the Bible. My sister and I used to use this one for _private_ study. It’s a fine way to while away the hours alone.”

“I understand Miss. Thank you.”

He slips the book into the inside pocket of his jacket and continues his progress through the crowd.

“Show your support for the Second Salem campaign. Can I give you a leaflet, Sir?”

He feels Tina’s gaze on the back of his neck as she watches him go.

 

~~~

 

It’s not until much later that night that he examines the bible she gave him. The rest of the family are in bed asleep, and he hasn’t heard any of them stir for at least a half hour.

The bible is a solid book with metal-tipped corners and a brass clasp that holds it closed. A push on a press stud activates the mechanism that flips the clasp back. He opens the book gently, giving a little surprised laugh, immediately cut off, when he sees what’s inside.

The book is hollow. Someone has very carefully cut out most of the middle of the pages and then stuck the sheets of paper together. The pages have been fixed to the inside of the back cover. He has his own secret box. But best of all, wrapped in greaseproof paper, there’s another apple strudel inside.

Later, once he’s eaten every scrap of it, and checked his bedclothes for stray flakes of pastry, he pulls up the loose floorboard where he’s hidden the box the chocolate frog came in, along with his magical picture card of Merlin, and lays them on the bed next to the Bible.

The chocolate box isn’t glued together, just folded, tabs inserted into slots giving it its structure. He unmakes it gently, folding it flat. It just fits inside the Bible. As he lays the picture card with Merlin’s portrait on it, the picture of the elderly wizard gives him a familiar wink.

He’s still not entirely used to the way the picture _looks_ at him. It often seems like the wizard is on the verge of speaking to him, but Credence thinks that _has_ to be wishful thinking on his part. But still, he wishes the picture could talk. He has so many questions, but he’s still a little too afraid to ask.

He considers putting his present on the shelf among his meagre collection of other books, but in the end, decides that under the floorboards is safer. Mr Graves and Tina are like his friends. He doesn’t want to risk their discovery, doesn’t want to share them. And while the bible box is utterly convincing as a bible, he is sure his mother would spot it and ask where it came from. She might even try to read it. And that doesn’t bear thinking about.

Credence sleeps more deeply that night than he has for weeks. It’s been the perfect end to a week of revelations. He _can_ be good for this mother, she _really does_ love him. And on top of that, he has friends. He has friends.


End file.
